


Going the Distance

by clusband



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Choose Your Own Ending, Fluff, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Humor, I'm going to give the clown fuckers everything they want, Long-Distance Relationship, Other, Pale-Red Vacillation, Pegging...? Kind of?, Phone Sex, Sexting, Skype Sex, The Porn Is the Plot, This got a little angsty? GOD why did this get a little angsty!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clusband/pseuds/clusband
Summary: You’ve always known Marvus loved the sound of his own voice. Maybe it should have been no surprise that he liked yours better.Or: Four times you were apart, and one time you weren’t





	1. Sexting

You think it says a lot about you when, at the first buzz of your phone, you nearly jump over the counter to answer it.

Marvus has been on tour for two weeks now, and time has dragged on for so long that it’s felt like two months.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** hey babe   
  
**Marvus:** wat u up 2 :oP

You smile. It’s been a few days since you’ve been able to talk to him, even if just like this.

 

 

Marvus

**MSPA Reader:** Not much!

**MSPA Reader:** It’s been a long day. I’m making some grilled cheese.

**MSPA Reader:** I bet you’re jealous- being on tour has nothing on this!

You snap a picture of you in your apron, your grilled cheese beautifully centered in the picture. You take a moment to admire the composition of your photo- the moonlight hits your face just right, lighting you up. You can barely see the dark circles under your eyes. You turn off the burner and plate your sandwich, deciding to fluff it up a bit so you can send another picture to your matespirt. Before you get the sprig of parsley set, he texts you again.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** LOL ur cute   
  
**Marvus:** wat wld u do if i was there ;o)    
  
**MSPA Reader:** I’d make you a sandwich too   
  
**Marvus:** hehe wat else :o?

There’s a part of you that wonders how long you can draw this out- he’s clearly being suggestive.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Mspa Reader:** I’d make you help me clean up.   
  
**Mspa Reader:** Your kitchen is a mess!   
  
**Marvus:** yeah? u think u cld focus w dis around ;o) ?

He sends you a picture that, at first glance, seems like a nude. Well, that escalated quickly. But once you open it fully, you notice that he’s hanging out in a greenroom somewhere, lounging on a couch with his chest, as usual, on full display. You catch a glimpse of one clown in the background, startled by the flash of his phone. Is his sexting you in public? What an asshole.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I think you’re the one that should be worried about being distracted

You take a second to rinse your face, run your hands through your hair, and then you take your shirt off before replacing your apron. Lowering your apron suggestively, you send him a picture of you winking, the soft skin of your chest a harsh contrast against your rough apron.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** dan bby how u look so good tho   
  
**Marvus:** gimme a sec

You give him a sec, finally getting around to finishing your lunch. He takes a while, so you fuck around on chittr while you wait for him. To say you’re anxious is a bit of an understatement- it’s been so long since you’ve been with him like this. Sexually, yes, but also… Intimate. You feel a little lame saying that in your head but it’s true. You’ve really missed him.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** bet u wanna get ur paws all on dis LOL

He sends you a picture of him taking his jacket off, the muscles on his chest bulging. His face is tilted with a flirtatious grin, but it falls flat. You can tell he’s a little tired, with his eyes half closed and his hair starting to flatten. Time for a little of your infamous alien caring.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Yeah I’d get my hands on that   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Push you right to fucking bed!   
  
**Marvus:** hehe i like wen ur ruff w me   
  
**MSPA Reader:** No,I mean, you look tired, Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** You must be working really hard   
  
**Marvus:** bby i work harder den u kno ;o)

Then he sends you a picture of his hand on his crotch, his bulge very obviously outlined in the tight fabric. Alright then.

You move from the kitchen to his bedroom. You take your apron off completely, but keep the fabric held up against your breasts, pushing up your cleavage for him. You flex a little bit, too, showing off the muscles of your arms that you’ve developed while staying on Alternia.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I bet   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Let me take care of you :)   
  
**Marvus:** yeah bby

He sends you another picture of him lying on a mattress somewhere. His hair spreads out behind him like ink through water. He’s taken his shirt completely off, one hand holding his phone above him and the other out of frame, clearly touching his bulge.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Tease   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Show me what you got   
  
**Marvus:** u frst ?

That’s fair. You take the apron away from your chest and run your hand down to your pants, undoing the belt and fingering your zipper. You send him a picture like that.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** This what you want?   
  
**Marvus:** hehe u no wat i liek   
  
**Marvus:** more ?   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Selfish ;)   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Say please   
  
**Marvus:** pls ?

You finally unzip your pants all the way. It’s a bit of a struggle, trying to maneuver yourself to look attractive while also trying to get off. You figure this is more for him right now, anyway, and shove your hand unceremoniously down your pants. Really, they’re too tight to touch yourself properly, but it looks good in the picture.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** u look so soft <3   
  
**Marvus:** watchu thinkin abt ?

It’s just like him to ask a question that you didn’t know was bothering you. You take a little breath, collect yourself. It’s not that you don’t feel sexy- Marvus is the kind of boyfriend that you could wear literally any nonsense and he’d fuss and make a big deal over how good you look, and still come across as genuine.

It’s just. You’ve never done this before. And you hope you’re doing alright.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** yo u aight bby ?   
  
**Marvus:** dnt tell me u wuz only doin dis 4 me :o(

Damn it, your silence has been noticed.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Sorry! I’m alright <3   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I guess I’m just a little nervous!   
  
**Marvus:** wat u nervous for ?   
  
**Marvus:** ur doin great :o)   
  
**Marvus:** hehe lemme show u

He sends you an image of his bulge, fully unsheathed, proud against the soft skin of his belly. His hand is wrapped fully around the base of it, some of his purple material slicking between his fingers, and you notice the slight dip of his fingers as he plays with his pleasure nub.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Wow   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I did that??   
  
**Marvus:** u no it :o)   
  
**Marvus:** dat pic u sent me reminded me of da time u came ovr @ my hive   
  
**Marvus:** remember ?   
  
**Marvus:** u made me sit on my hands   
  
**Marvus:** & u took all ur clothez off   
  
**Marvus:** slow af ;oP   
  
**Marvus:** u was teasin me   
  
**Marvus:** i aint never been wetter in my whole dam life LOL

Wow, he sure is saying all of that without an ounce of shyness. A little thrill of competition runs through you- you want to make him feel how you’re feeling now.

After some consideration, you take your pants fully off.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Can you send me another picture please?   
  
**Marvus:** hehe   
  
**Marvus:** welllll   
  
**Marvus:** since ur so polite abt it

The next picture he sends you is exactly what you need- not a tasteful nude by any means, he has his nook on full display, two fingers around his pleasure nub as he subtly spreads himself for you. Okay. You got this.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** wish these were ur fingers babe   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Me too

Your next picture for him is a little more genuine. Slowly, you press one finger inside of yourself. You’re wet enough that it’s easy to push another one in alongside it. But here’s the tricky part- trying to get a picture of this is ridiculously difficult. The first time you try, you drop your phone on your thigh and nearly blind yourself with the flash. After turning the flash off and learning how to hold your phone with one hand, you find it difficult to get a good picture of… everything. Finally, you sort of just slouch over and get the best picture you can. It’s alright- your fingers have been inside yourself for so long that they look enticingly wet, and you think it’s endearing that the position you were slouched in shows off some of your stomach.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** hehe i’d b pressin kisses to ur belly if i wuz there   
  
**Marvus:** den i’d get 2 kissin up and down ur thighs u no ?

Marvus seems to think so too.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** i think dats the hardest part abt doin dis :o(   
  
**MSPA Reader:** What?   
  
**Marvus:** cant kiss u   
  
**MSPA Reader:** THAT’S the hardest part about doing this??   
  
**Marvus:** yeah :o(

You guess he has a point. But all of this talk is killing your mood. You do what you do best and just blunder right past it.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** So…   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Two fingers? Three?   
  
**Marvus:** LOL ! !   
  
**Marvus:** im one up on u babe ;o)   
  
**Marvus:** \+ i got my bulge to keep me busy

Somehow, he manages to send you a picture of him stroking his bulge while he has three fingers in his nook. Judging by the width of his legs, you guess he held his phone between his feet and set a timer? Wow, he’s good.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Messiahs, Marvus…   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I don’t know if I can take any more pictures of myself for you   
  
**Marvus:** i got u good huh ?   
  
**Marvus:** u can just talk 2 me tho we frosty   
  
**Marvus:** dis jugg can still deliver da pics   
  
**Marvus:** if u want   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Can we just talk then?   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Every time you send me a picture I feel like I’m getting a glimpse of some behind the scenes, non-euclidean puzzle   
  
**Marvus:** LOL   
  
**Marvus:** aight we still vibin   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Thanks   
  
**Marvus:** sooo….    
  
**Marvus:** u never answered my q   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Which is...?   
  
**Marvus:** wat wld u b doin if i wuz there ?

Oh yeah. You forgot he asked that. It’s really very kind of him to try to get you present the way he is.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Hmm...   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I guess… This!   
  
**Marvus:** ohyeah ?   
  
**Marvus:** u liek watchin me get off ?   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I do   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I like touching you more though >:)   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I bet you’re so wet right now   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I wish I could feel you   
  
**Marvus:** hehe soundz naughty   
  
**Marvus:** ur fingers are teeny tiny lol   
  
**Marvus:** i bet you cld fit 4 of urs up in me if u wanted   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I bet I could   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Would you like that?   
  
**Marvus:** hellz yeah baby   
  
**Marvus:** i want all of u   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Yeah?   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I wonder if I could ride your bulge while I did that   
  
**MSPA Reader:** If I leaned forward, your nook’s right there   
  
**Marvus:** oh fxxk   
  
Marvus is typing...

There’s a moment where he’s silent, the “he’s typing” bubbles doing their thing. But you’re feeling impatient, images of Marvus flashing through your brain.

Images of him, his hands gripping your hips, as you ride him. You remember how noisy he is, letting out all of his moans to the room like a personal performance for you, letting you know how he feels. He’s never been shy.

You imagine what his nook would feel like while you ride his bulge. Would it flutter around your fingers? The thought of him, his bulge thrashing in you as he’s close to coming, and his nook clenching around your fingers, has you clenching around yours.

Although, you feel a little selfish not letting him in on that.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I’m really close   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Would your nook flutter around my fingers as I fucked you?   
  
**MSPA Reader:** The way mine is right now?   
  
**Marvus:** fxxk yeah   
  
**Marvus:** thnk u can come 4 me ?   
  
**Marvus:** then send pics ? ?

A little flutter of pride wells up in you- you’re affecting him. You fuck yourself on your fingers harder, remembering everything you can about him. How he likes to grab you by the hips and wiggle you around a little to make you laugh when you get too serious. How he rests his chin on your head as he rubs your clit, watching you. The way he laughs when he comes, the happiness and love overflowing from him.

When you come, you press your nose into the sheets, inhaling the lingering scent of him. All at once, though, everything comes crashing around you. His bed is so big that it feels lonely without him, and, though text messaging is instantaneous, it lacks the emotional depth of hearing the inflections of his voice. Of being able to touch him.

You really, really miss him.

You pick up your phone- 3 missed texts from him already.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** hehe dont tell nobody   
  
**Marvus:** but i actually came a while ago

Then: a picture of his chest and stomach, stained purple with his cum. You’re more interested in his face- he’s smiling serenely, but he looks drained, exhausted. He has that look around his eyes that he gets when a headache is setting in.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**MSPA Reader:** When do you get home from your tour again?   
  
**Marvus:** we got another wipe n a half 2 go :o(   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I really, really miss you.   
  
**Marvus:** i miss u 2 <3   
  
**Marvus:** we gonna get through it tho   
  
**Marvus:** da messiahs are gonna make sure we get well rewarded for our patience   
  
**Marvus:** ufeelme ?

You spend the rest of your night talking about his tour, your life. He seems very impressed that you’re planning on getting your first tattoo on Alternia, apparently under the impression that earth tattoos are painless. You set him straight very quickly.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** wat u mean they use a needle   
  
**Marvus:** tf ?   
  
**MSPA Reader:** It jabs ink into your skin really fast   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Are alternian tattoos different?   
  
**Marvus:** ya cuz   
  
**Marvus:** we use lasers and shit   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Lasers???   
  
**MSPA Reader:** D:   
  
**Marvus:** idk LOL   
  
**Marvus:** sumn like dat   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Maybe you should get a tat   
  
**MSPA Reader:** You’d look real nice with my color somewhere on you   
  
**Marvus:** mayb i shld ;)

Your eyes are starting to close as you type, the buzz of his texts startling you from your cozy haze.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** hey   
  
**Marvus:** i never got dat last pic

You sigh- you know you look like a mess. But, you know he would do the same for you, so you snap a quick selfie. As expected, your hair’s all mussed, and your eyes are half closed with drowsiness.

 

 

Marvus   
  
**Marvus:** aww lol u look sleepy   
  
**MSPA Reader:** I’ll call tomorrow?

For all that you’re sleepy, it’s hard to actually… fall asleep. You move from Marvus’s bed to the couch and watch the clouds outside of his window for a while. As the windows tint with the light of the sun, your eyes start to grow heavy again.

And when you dream that night, you dream of Marvus.


	2. Face-timing

“Soo… wat u think? Sultry stoner...,” Marvus sticks two fingers straight into a jar of gray face paint and draws a stripe under his eye. “...or catty clubs?” he sticks his pinky into a different jar of paint and draws a stripe under his other eye. The two colors are exactly the same.

On a list of things that you love waking up to, a face time call from Marvus is pretty high up there. That being said, answering the call only to be greeted by Marvus having a crisis over face paint wasn’t exactly what you were hoping for.

He looks completely ridiculous- you’ve seen him with and without face paint, and you’ve seen him in his stage face paint that highlights all of his features so dramatically that you wonder if you even registered that he was an alien before then. But you never get to see him in his inbetween stages like you are now.

“Oh, you’re definitely a sultry stoner sort of clown, Marvus,” you hide your smile as he turns his head, one way and then the next, facing you in profile as he studies his eyes, one at a time.

You take this moment of silence to study him. His face is completely white, save for the stripes under his eyes. He’s glued his eyebrows down, and that, combined with the headband in his hair, makes his forehead look a lot bigger than it is. You see why he paints his eye brows up so high now. Without the diamonds painted on his face, his eyes look a lot smaller, his expression a lot more focused.

“I feel like I’m looking at you through a fun house mirror,” you tell him as he starts to stow away his other shade of paint, passing it behind him to a stage hand.

“Hehe, you got those on earth?” he sounds distracted as he starts on his eyeliner- how did you never realize that he wore eyeliner?

“Yeah, we have the whole fun-house over there,” you smile as you watch him tilt his head around, checking for symmetry. Then he starts on his diamonds and paints right over his perfect cat eye. What the fuck was the point? Maybe it’s some sort of stage trick. You guess you don’t know that much about this side of Marvus.

Which is ironic, considering this is the side of Marvus you met that first time.

“You know, I never get to see this process too often. You look a lot different in the between stages of your face paint!”

“Nah, I look a lil’ different backstage maybe,” he brings out a flat angled brush to neaten the lines on his face. “Anyway, what you mean? You take my paint off for me all the damn time, baby.” He gives you a wink.

“Yeah but this is different,” he gives you a knowing look as he starts on his eyebrows. You watch one stage hand pass him an assortment of bowties, all individually wrapped in some sort of plastic wrapping, hanging on a silver hanger. Marvus picks up a pink one patterned with yellow balloon animals and sets in on his vanity. You wonder if he gets those dry cleaned.

You lean back and watch him direct his crew for a minute. One returns with coffee, two come over with some papers and a pen and Marvus signs it without reading. You guess his legislacerator reads through the papers first?

“You’re not even going to look at those, huh?” you ask him, knowing he can’t answer, busy as he is with everyone moving around him. He does glance at you, giving you an embarrassed sort of look like oh, you caught him, but he’s quickly distracted by one of his back up dancers rushing into his room with his clothes for the evening, hanging them up next to Marvus and removing the protective coverings. He appraises them, then sends everyone away, picking up his tin of setting powder and a pouf to set his face paint with.

“Yo, you still in your jammies?” he finally looks back to you, with your head resing on your hand and doing your best to feign boredom. A smile is bright in his eyes- an idea strikes you.

“Actually, I was just about to get dressed,” he nods as he taps his setting powder gently on his face. Damn it, you were hoping for his full attention.

You lower your voice a little this time, suggestive. “Or I guess… undressed.” Success! He looks up at the screen, at your flirtatious smirk (and, bless him, he doesn’t give you shit for blushing a little), then he looks around to make sure you weren’t noticed by his crew. His headphones catch on his ear as he turns his head wildly around, and you watch the multicolored blur of the room spinning around as his phone gets dragged off the desk.

“Oh shit haha,” he laughs mildly, getting his bearings. He sets his phone back to rights on his vanity. “Like, now now?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” a question…

“Damn guess I better hold it together then hehe,” he says, nearly a whisper. And there’s your answer. You smile at him, smiling at you.

Suddenly you wish you had planned for this- an old band t-shirt and sleep shorts aren’t exactly easy to strip tease with. But you’ll improvise.

Marvus pretends like he’s still setting his face, but you see that his eyes are on you. Every feature on his face is rising with excitement- the quirk of his eyebrows, the smile forming at the corners of his mouth. Okay then. Showtime.

You stand up, making sure all he can see is your stomach, and take your shirt off, doing that thing that people do in movies where they grab the bottom of their shirt by crossing their arms before lifting it up and over. It’s surprisingly seamless- this position allows you to stretch out your back before you sit back down. The cool air hits your skin, comfortable against the heat of your rushing blood.

“Looks nice,” he says, noncommittal, like you’re showing him paint samples. But when you sit back down, keeping your shirt held to your chest, you see the purple flush to his ears, the way his pupils are blown with interest. “Think it’s time I got dressed,” he says, dismissing his stage crew with finality.

You hear the sound of the door shutting, watching as Marvus flicks his head behind him to make sure he’s alone, before he speaks to you again.

“Hehe you’re kinda bold,” he says, winking at you. You see the heat in his eyes, the way he leans his head in to his phone screen to see as much of you as he can.

You don’t respond, lowering your eyes at him as you turn in your chair, exposing the skin of your back. You hear him hum in appreciation, enjoying the view. You glance over at him- it’s kind of hard to actually see anything in detail on your screen, but you see him leaned back in his chair, his hand resting on his stomach. Then you take your shirt away from your skin, dropping it on the floor.

You think you hear him... sigh? Let out a breath? You wish you had thought to turn the volume up on your phone. Damn it, next time you’re going to plan for something like this!

You move on. Holding your arm over your breasts, you turn back to him.

“Aww, all dat and you ain’t even gonna show me?” he pouts at you.

“I just want to turn the volume up- I can’t hear you,” you decided honesty was best here. There’s not really a sexy explanation for this anyway.

“Hehe- you know I can’t get all noisy with my whole damn damn crew waiting paw and fucking foot outside da door. You’re out here wilding LOL! Going full fuckin volume on my ass,” he does, in fact, say LOL out loud.

“You better learn to keep it quiet quick, then,” you say, holding your finger to your lips before you turn back around. You hook your fingers into the waistband of your shorts, glancing over your shoulder at him. The effect is much better now that you can hear him- he’s playing with the waistband of his pants, now. You were kind of hoping to see some bulge, but that’s fine too. He’s close enough to his phone that you can hear his breathing pick up. It’s a good compromise between ‘being noisy’ and ‘not getting caught-’ you appreciate that.

You pull your shorts slowly over your skin, letting the soft susurrus of the fabric join the rhythm of his breathing. You watch him pull his zipper down- the same, slow pace that you’re pulling your shorts down with. Ah- you see the game he’s playing.

“We kinda gotta hurry it up babe- I got 15 minutes till I’m on stage and I ain’t even dressed yet,” he gives you a look to convey that this is real, not part of the scene, but the glazed look in his eyes softens the blow a little bit.

“Is this what you want?” you pull your underwear to the side, exposing yourself to him. Running two fingers down between your pussy, you pull away a trail of your wetness with your touch. You hear him gasp and look back to him. Perfect timing- his camera isn’t angled low enough to catch the whole event, but you do get to see the top half of his bulge undulate, emerging from its sheath. Fuck yeah.

“Ooh, you liked that,” you tease him.

“Yeah, oh fuck,” you hear him exhale sharply as he closes his eyes and hunches in on himself. Your voice is really affecting him. He opens his eyes and gets a good look at you pushing two fingers inside yourself. “Yo, you mind if I record this for later?” you nod, and he fucks around on his phone for a minute before touching himself again.

The idea of him, watching a video of you later to get off to, spurs you on. You fuck yourself harder on your fingers- no easy feat, kneeling backwards in a chair. But you soldier on.

You imagine him in his bed, one hand holding his phone and the other busy in his nook. Would he copy your motions? You give a few exaggerated thrusts of your fingers, imagining him doing the same.

You hum at him. He joins you, groaning low in his chest before covering his mouth with his hand.

“Where’s your voice, noisy? Cat got your tongue?” you tease him. You know it’s taking most of his control to keep it quiet the way he is. “Come on, Marvus, show me some love.”

He huffs out a laugh at this, letting out a soft ‘haah’ sound as his bulge thrashes in his grip.

“Baby I got your love right here,” he leans back and sort of thrusts his bulge at you. “But, ah, we gotta hurry it the fuck up. I wanna see you cum before I gotta get down to business for real.”

Alright. You can do that. Pulling your fingers out from yourself, you sit properly in your chair and find your clit. You get down to business- rubbing around it in teasing circles, then touching yourself the way you like. You know he can’t really see exactly what you’re doing, and you can only barely see what he’s doing, but the suggestion is enough. You watch his arm flex as he plays with his bulge. Sweat forms between his pecs, his eyelids are lowered as he watches you. You play it up for him arching your back, throwing back your head, as you plateau for a few seconds, then letting all of your breath out in a rush as you do, finally, come.

“Are you going to watch it after your show?” He nods, focused on you. With his full attention, you bring your two fingers to your mouth and suck your own wetness from your fingers.

“C’mon now, how I’m supposed to focus tonight with this shizz all on my mind?” He smiles at you, closing his eyes as he finally blisses the fuck out. He must be close.

You huff out a laugh, flattered, and he laughs with you. You take a moment to admire him. His setting powder is really good stuff- his face paint hasn’t blurred or smeared at all. His hair is coming loose from his headband- you notice a few curlers stuck in his hair that you didn’t notice the first time. As you hear his laugh die down, missing him hits you like a blow to the chest.

“I miss you,” you tell him, letting the raw vulnerability of the statement steep in your voice. “You were right the other day- not kissing you is the hardest part of this.”

“Aw, sweetpea,” he tries to comfort you, but he’s too close, you can see it in his tense shoulders, in the rhythm of his hand. You knew it- trolls are suckers for that emotional intimacy shit.

He looks wildly around before grabbing a random article of clothing off a rack. Oh fuck you hope that’s not his costume for tonight. You watch in horror as he comes all over it- it would really be a disaster if that’s what he’s supposed to be wearing in a few minutes, trolls don’t come modestly.   

He lets himself relax for a second, tension draining from him like water through a river. He gets all giggly, just looking at you and smiling, and he just giggles more when you ask him what he's giggling about. He's cute, he looks comfy, all relaxed in his chair. But when he cleans up, he cleans up quickly, precise in the way that suggests he’s done this before. You’ll have to ask him about that next time. You watch him take off his rings and clean them before he puts them back on his fingers. Why didn't he take them off?

“Damn, hope that wasn’t my shizz for tonight hehe,” he jokes as he examines the fabric. Once he figures out what it is- some sort of cheetah print jacket- he just shrugs and throws it away. You avert your eyes, covering your mouth in horror. That jacket had to be worth more than all of the clothes currently in your possession combined. Absolutely ghastly behavior on his part.

You stay on the phone with him as you both get dressed together. He tells you about a new song he’s including in his set list tonight- he sings the chorus to you, then he sings it again, including some _what_ ’s and _yuh_ ’s, stuff like that, to get you hyped and singing along with him. He’s well and truly in his stage mode, then, getting rowdy and silly like he is.

You can see that your conversation takes its toll on his tailor- you catch a dirty look shot your way as Marvus ignores him in favor of talking to you. You watch as someone else takes the curlers from his hair, spraying him with hairspray and finally removing his headband. If they notice that his hair is a little mussed, his face a little flushed, they don’t say anything about it.

Unfortunately, Marvus has to take his headphones out as his crew attaches sound equipment to him. This seems like your cue to say goodbye.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Marvus,” you say, a little embarrassed that everyone can hear you now. With a burst of courage, you tell him you love him and can’t wait to talk to him again.

A member of his crew turns his phone off before he can even say goodbye.   


	3. Phone... Sex?

“It’s not on your chair,”

“You deadass?”

“Yes I’m deadass! Seriously Marvus, I don’t see it anywhere!”

“Aight check tha closet then...”

You’re at your wits end with Marvus today. You take a deep breath. It’s important to be patient with him- you know he’s under a lot of stress. Between his hectic tour schedule and his cramped tour bus (relatively- your hive is roughly the same size as that behemoth), he’s been losing his patience a little bit. Not just with you, but with everyone- you hear him snap at his crew (‘No they can’t find it… Do I _look_ like I know where the fuck it is?’ Ouch, that tone cuts, even if it’s not directed at you) before slamming a door behind him.

“Marvus, if you want, you can facetime me and I can show you- I can show everyone!- that your pants aren’t here,” this isn’t an entirely innocent suggestion. Every time your phone rings, you have a fucking Pavlovian response to it, hoping it’s Marvus. And, for once, you were prepared. Hair done, nice outfit. Clean and ready to go.

“Nah baby I can’t- reception out here’s wack,” he says. At least he sounds genuinely apologetic. 

“Ay, do me a favor and check tha closet for me though?” There’s something in his voice, a hint of laughter, or maybe it’s mischief, that makes you think that you’re about to get a pie to the face.

You open his closet- it’s a mess, clothes strewn about everywhere. There’s absolutely no way you can find his pants in here, assuming they’re even in his hive. You take a breath. Patience, patience, patience. You say it in your head like a mantra, like a way of being.

“Marvus,” you say, patient as a stone. “I’m not sorting through this. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to get your pants to you even if I did find them.”

Nothing. You check the screen of your phone- he’s been disconnected. You sigh, kneeling to hold your head in your hands. You miss him, even when he’s frustrating you. These three weeks have been hell already, and you have five more to go.

Right as you gather your thoughts and start to stand, Marvus calls you again.

“Heyy sorry about that haha,” even though his laugh sounds genuine, his voice is strained. “You still in my closet?”

“Yeah, hey did you hear me before?”

“Uh-huh, I gotchu. This ain’t for dat though, check my shoe rack.” You check his shoe rack.

“See it?” you hear the wink in his voice. You don’t see… Oh wait, there’s a thin, rectangular box here, roughly the size of your torso. It’s matte black, with a lid and a little red bow. You guess you found his pants? What were they doing in a box?

“Are these your pants? You could have told me they were in a box!” You can’t help yourself, a little bit of your frustration bleeds through your voice.

“Nah,” he says simply. Then nothing. You check your phone again- you haven’t been disconnected.

“So… what’s in the box?”

“Aww you ain’t gonna guess?” his pout travels through his voice.

“No, I’m not going to guess!” you snap at him. Then you take a breath. “I’m sorry Marvus, I’m feeling a little frustrated.”

“We frosty, b. The box is for you- I left it in my closet before I got gone,” he doesn’t sound hurt, thank fuck. 

He got you a gift? You feel your smile radiate throughout your entire body. You take off the lid, push away the pink tissue paper. 

Inside the box is a set of lingerie. You touch it lightly- the red material is softer and lighter than gossamer, and just as strong. You lift it from the box and hold it up to your body. As far as you can tell, it’s going to be a perfect fit.

That thoughtful bastard. He planned this, for all of this. The phone sex and the frustration that came from your loneliness- he knows you better than you realized.

“Wow,” your voice trails off as you leave his filthy closet and into his dressing room.

“Hehe you like it?” He sounds proud. “I thought, maybe if I le-” the phone disconnects. Damn it.

You’re probably going to have to wait a few minutes, so you figure you may as well try to wear it. It takes a few minutes for you to figure out how all of the straps go and-

Marvus calls again.

“What I was saying was, I thought it might be like I was there with you if you got a lil’ gift from me,” he says. Then, his voice small, “you feel me?” 

You do feel him. This is an incredibly sweet gesture.

“I love it, thank you. I was actually in the middle of trying it on before you called again,” you blush, bashful. It does feel a little like he’s here with you. If he were here, he'd be sitting on the lounge chair in the corner of the dressing room, maybe. You imagine that he is there as he speaks to you next.  

“Hehe don’t let me stop you,” you can hear him lean back against something, some sheets maybe, or a pillow. “Tell me what it looks like.”

It takes some time, but you do finally figure out how to put everything on, where all of the straps and fasteners go, how to readjust the straps on your shoulders so they don’t slip and the straps on your garterbelt so they don’t tear the stockings. Despite the fact that it’s sort of a process to get into, you’re feeling good. Maybe it’s because Marvus is right there with you, laughing when you describe how you got stuck in some sort of loop, and joking with you about how he should have packed instructions.

Or maybe it’s because you were right the first time- the fit is perfect. Once everything is in its proper place, secure and stable, you take a moment to admire yourself in the mirrors. The bright, saturated red contrasts beautifully with your skin tone, and the gold fasteners and bits of lace draw out the shine and sparkle of your skin, somehow. It fits you closer than a hug, lighter than a breath. 

You look absolutely fucking amazing. You smile to yourself as you convey this over the phone to Marvus, doing your best to paint a picture of yourself.

“Hehe, hey wanna role-play a lil’?” Cool, you’re glad he gets straight to the point. 

“Uh, sure. What’s the scene?” You’ve got this. You’re still admiring yourself in the mirror. You feel… really good about yourself. The idea of role-playing only slightly embarrasses you right now, and even that blow is softened by the fact that this is your matesprit. You love him.

“How bout…” he draws this out for a minute, thinking. “I just got home after a long day, and you come take care of me?”

That hits a little close to home, but maybe that’s exactly what you need right now.

“And then I fuck you?” he continues. Wow, he has such a way with words. This is the man you fell in love with. 

You smile, laughing a little. One thing about Marvus- he always knows how to make you laugh, regardless of what mood you’re in.

“Okay,” you tell him.

“Wh…ou say?” you hear him ask, his phone breaking up a little.

“I said okay!” you say a little louder into the receiver. This is going great so far.

“Ooh gotchu,” he finally cuts back in. “Okay, so, uh… I just got home. I’m all tense and shiz.”

Hm. You get the feeling that he’s never done this before. At least you’re on equal ground this time.

“Aw, what are you all tense about? I guess I would… help you take your jacket off? Sit you down in front of me and rub your shoulders?” 

“Mhm, feels nice,” he sounds a little sleepy. “I love when you get your hands all on me.”

“What’s stressing you out?” this time you’re genuinely concerned. "Um, by now I would be running my hands through your hair...?"

You hear him do just that over the phone, letting out a terse breath.

“It’s just… Man, I hate not being able to escape my own damn work, you know?”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how much stress you’re under. Between all of the paper work and your shows. Do you have any time to yourself?”

“All the ti… to mys-” the phone disconnects, damn it.

You take this time to go into his kitchen (sending your thanks to who ever might be listening that his lusus is out right now) and get yourself some tea. You can feel a long conversation coming on, and the cool air of the mid-evening is starting to chill your skin. Once you pass by his foyer, you notice his hoodie- the black one, with the gold sleeves and his sign printed on the left breast. You trace your fingers over the loops and lines of _caprist,_ then you put it on, wrapping yourself in his smell and the lingering memories. You notice, in the light of the kitchen, the small, discolored patches scattered over the shoulders from when he got caught in the rain picking you up some takeout.

He calls you back 25 minutes later, almost exactly. You’ve already found his secret stash of cookies (he should have known that there is nothing in his hive you can’t figure out how to reach), and your tea is half finished and lukewarm.

“Hey, can you hear me?” you answer him.

“We gravy baby. Should be smooth mofuckin sailing from here on out,” and, just like that, the tension is back in his voice.

“Want to continue? You were telling me about your alone time,” you keep your voice neutral, letting him decide if he wants to go the suggestive route or actually talk about how he’s feeling.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I get to spending my alone time with my set manager,” he lets out a sigh. “Or with my tailor. Or with my backup dancers. You’re all I got when I'm feeling the blues, b.”

"I'm happy to listen. Do you want to talk about it more?"

At this point, your roleplay has long since been forgotten. This is completely fine with you- Marvus picked out the good stuff. Beneath his hoodie, you’re quite comfortable. This lingerie fits you better than a second skin.

"Nah, just feel like _talking_ talking, nothin heavy like dat. I aired out all my fuckin, uh, 'grievances,'" he says this with the sort of tone that suggests he's mocking someone, "wit my crew this morning. Just need a lil' time,"

“Hm,” you change the subject, not knowing enough about being on tour to really help him here. “Have you seen anything interesting while you’ve been away?”

“Oh yeah! I saw this huge cactus that looked like a bulge, hehe,” there he is. “I got a pic with it and errything.”

“Please send that to me!” you laugh, imagining Marvus doing some exaggerated gangster pose in front of something phallic. 

“Got you babe,” he must hear the smile in your voice, because you hear the beginnings of one in his. “You want the one where I’m posing like Snoop Dog or the one where I’m pretending to jack it?”

“Snoop Dog, please,” you take a sip of your cold tea. It’s not bad, actually. You get some milk from his fridge- it’s just within date- and make yourself some iced tea. You just made it a whole lot worse.

“Well, what else have you been getting up to? Surely it’s not all cacti and road signs out there,” you’re imagining something like the wild west, but succulents are plentiful on Alternia. Maybe you should be imagining Philly? Manhattan? You don’t know exactly where he is.

Marvus starts on this long story about how his PR manager spilled drinks all over a group of bluebloods right as you pour your ruined tea in the sink and start some dishes. In truth, the story is so boring you have to force yourself to focus on it. Bur you know Marvus’s life is a little boring right now, so you listen attentively. You do your best to joke with him, and he laughs genuinely.

“...and then they pointed to this sign of the heiress like she was the real fuckin deal, got her trident trained on our asses as we drove right the fuck out of who-knowsville, hehe.” 

Good story, Marvus. You suppose he must be staying up late to talk to you. Or maybe he's just talking because he's in the mood to be heard. You’re starting to feel the weight of your own day. It’s about time you start winding down. 

“Are you going to sleep soon?” you ask.

“Ah, I don’t know bout all dat,” his voice lowers suggestively. Really? _Now_ he’s going to try to have phone sex with you?

“Maybe you should, what if you sleep through another sighting of the heiress?” you tease him.  He takes the hint.

“Yeah, guess you’re right,” he says. “Sweet dreams.”

As he hangs up, the whole room dims. You aren’t feeling bad, or even lonely necessarily- you feel pretty good about cheering Marvus up, actually. You’re just tired. Worn down.

You start to gather your things, preparing to leave. You like sleeping at his hive when he’s away sometimes, but it just feels too big right now. Before you get dressed, you send Marvus a picture of you in his hoodie, pulling it aside to show off his gift for you. 

When you start your long, slow walk home, your thoughts are on your matesprit. And you think of him spending his time alone tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I swear this chapter was headed in a much sexier direction before I started writing lol.


	4. Skype Sex (Part 1 of 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I kind of disappeared! Life has been kicking me hard lately. I'm breaking this chapter up because I just don't have a lot of free time right now, but I want to keep putting out content. That's why it's a little short- I'm sorry about that too! I don't want this fic to be lackluster, so I'm putting a lot of time into editing them, and I also want to make sure that you all know this hasn't been abandoned! The next part is about 50% done, and should be out this Sunday. The last chapter will be posted as a single chapter- I actually wrote a majority of it before I wrote any of the other chapters lol. 
> 
> Thank you all for your kind words, your patience, and your understanding!

“You were right about the lasers.”

Marvus gives you a smug look, slightly diminished through the green of his sopor face mask. 

“They didn’t hurt at all,” you continue. This week has been an effort to connect with the outside world again. Your depression at your separation from your matesprit and the anxiety about your life were all diminished when Mallek invited you and Diemen over to his hive for some downtime. It turns out that sucking at video games with some of your friends can be, get this, good for your mental health.

It also turns out that getting a tattoo on Alternia is so much easier than getting one on earth. Life seems to be taking it a little easy on you these days 

“Ya, from what I hear that shit just stings, then it’s over,” Marvus has started filing his nails as he talks to you. You take some tome to admire his eyes; he’s becoming an adult proper. The purple of his blood spreads through his iris almost completely. You shove down that particular piece of anxiety, and instead listen to Marvus’s world for a little bit. It’s relaxing to lose yourself in the sounds of the drama he’s left on in the background- it sounds like Golden Girls, and honestly, he would. But before you can get lost completely, Marvus speaks up again.

“Soooo… you gonna show me?” Oh lord, he’s winking at you now. Time to turn on your A-game.

So, the thing is: you’re prepared this time! Freshly washed, clean clothes. You look good. But.

Your day out with your friends left you craving something. Closeness, maybe. Physical touch. You’re afraid that if you start this with Marvus, you might not be able to stop. Still, you called him specifically to show off your new tattoo, so showing off your new tattoo is what you'll do.

Slowly, you lift up your right arm. With your left hand, you lift up the hem of your shirt to reveal Mallek’s hard work. In bright, bold colors, along your ribs, is a pomegranate, split open and spilling seeds along your side into the coat of a giant, white cerberus. You’re still amazed at how bright and vibrant it is with rich reds and purples, vivid pinks and whites. Mallek is truly an artist. You’re impressed! You expected him to be more along the lines of a stick-and-poke smiley face sort of dude.

Marvus admires you for a minute, his eyes trailing over the bold lines of your tattoo before trailing over the soft tones of your bare skin. A shiver runs through you at the heat in his eyes, but you manage to suppress it. His face mask does nothing for his good looks; you wonder how his gaze might affect you if it was superimposed on his naked skin. A shiver jumps and startles across your skin at the thought.

“Yo good shit boo,” he leans in. “Show it off for me right quick, ayy!” He starts whooping and cheering at you as you lift your sweater up and over your head. Talk about an enthusiastic audience: Marvus gives you his full attention. You give him a little wiggle, dancing to the ending theme song of his show. He laughs, the juxtaposition of his petty drama show and your silly dance combining into something truly ridiculous. 

“That your lusus?” he asks as he starts wiping away his mask. His skin’s gone pale from the cool chill of the sopor, he looks almost sickly. 

“Humans- my species- don’t have lusus. We raise our own young,” you consider the best way to explain yourself without getting too explicit. “We’re mammals.” 

“Gotchu, boo,” he takes his headband off and shakes his hair loose behind his head, exposing his throat and jaw to you. You’ve been on Alternia long enough to recognize a significant romantic gesture when you see one, and you can feel the heat of your blush as he turns back to his husktop, significant and heavy throughout his lidded eyes and his drawn brows. 

“So, what’s the story?” he asks you. Though he seems distracted, plucking at his shirt, you can tell he’s giving you his full attention.

Okay, maybe it's more like three-quarters of his attention. He looks restless. This is the time you should be getting him back to himself. With that in mind, it might be nice to share a little bit of human culture with him. Maybe you can have your cake and eat it too tonight.

“It’s from a myth,” you start, chewing slowly on the story, savoring the nitty-gritty of the details. Marvus interrupts you.

“It’s religious?” You have his full attention now.

“Not really? I mean, not anymore,” he’s smiling, tilting his head towards you to egg you on. You guess you always knew he was religious, and he knows that you may or may not share his beliefs. It’s no wonder he’s curious.

“It’s a story of loss, and finding a niche for your new self,” well, that’s your interpretation anyway. “A story of Persephone, goddess of wheat. Or something like that. Fuck, it’s been a while since I’ve been in school,” you laugh nervously as you find your thoughts again. “She was taken against her will to the underworld by the ruler of, uh, hell, basically. To be his matesprit. She was almost allowed her freedom, but, before she could leave, she had one taste of the forbidden fruit. Whether she took that taste voluntarily or whether she was deceived is up for debate, but the outcome is the same: once she had a taste, she couldn’t go back.”

“She couldn’t, or she wouldn’t?” Marvus asks. He quirks a brow at you, though he’s frowning. 

You can feel your arms crossing in front of your chest against your will. There’s a chill in the air, suddenly. You look down as you consider an answer you don't want to find.

“She couldn’t,” you say with finality, meeting his eyes. “Why wouldn’t she? Why would she want to stay?”

“Just sayin, but being the matesprit of the lord of the underworld sounds like a pretty sweet deal, you feel me? Sign me the fuck uuup!” He claps his hands as if this proves any point. “Watching wheat grow ain’t got shit on watching over the souls of the damned. Movie night erry night- imagine the drama, boo!”  

He’s laughing- you suppose that says a lot about him. Maybe it says more about you that you find yourself agreeing. This isn’t the story you wanted to tell him.

You hide a snort behind your hand. “I feel a little guilty laughing about it.”

“Aw, thought you said it was some myths shit?” You nod, but that doesn’t make you feel better.

“I guess you’re right. It’s not like it really happened.”

Marvus considers you, scanning his eyes over your face, holding his hands out like he wants to soothe you. You can hear the laugh track of Golden Girls playing in the background. Fucking damn it! You were not in the mood to get melancholy again.

Marvus interrupts your depressing internal monologue.

“Wellll maybe it ain’t happened boo, but that don’t mean it’s not real,” he says. You meet his eyes through the grainy screen of the webcam; even though it appears that he’s looking down, you know he’s looking at your image, too. You aren’t really sure what he means by that, but something about the sentiment lifts a small weight from your shoulders. A weight you didn’t know you were bearing.

“Thanks. I don’t know why I got so melancholy all of the sudden,” you laugh a little, as if to deflect from the sudden mood shift.

“S’aight, baby. Show it off again,” he studies your tattoo much more quietly this time, his hand on his chin as he considers you. He closes his eyes as he fake-pouts at you, giving you an unhappy ‘hm.’

“What?”

“I can’t see all of it,” he’s such a bad liar, a smile lighting up his eyes even as he acts disappointed. “Maybe you should take your shirt off.” Aaand there’s your man! He’s about as subtle as a freak-show. You smirk at him, removing your sweater while leaving your undershirt behind. You’d hate to make this too easy on him.

You show off your tattoo once more, lifting your arm above your head to really stretch out your side. He glances at your ribs, then trails his eyes up your side, pointedly lingering his glaze at your armpit then winking at you. You flush from hair to heel- you do not want to think about that lapse of sanity right now. 

“You got some scars under your arm,” he says instead. 

“Oh, yeah. Attacked by a cholerbear at Beastcon,” you say, waving your hand in the air, feigning nonchalance as if everyone gets attacked by a cholerbear and survives. Although, technically speaking, you guess you didn’t survive? “I guess the scars carry over,” you muse outloud.

“Beastcon?” he twists his face at you. “You a furry or sumn?”

“Different Beastcon.”

“Oh word? Didn’t hear a denial though,” his smile has grown wicked.

“I’m not a furry!” He starts laughing with you.

“I dunno, b, it would explain a lotta shizz bout you...”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Oh, you know. Dat scent fetish you got,” he’s trying, and failing, to suppress his laughter.

“Scent fetish…? Wha- Marvus that was all you! Those were your voodoos!” You feel like throwing something at him until you remember he isn’t actually, physically here. “Maybe _you’re_ a furry!”

“Hehe, maybe I am,” he winks at you. “I get to fuckin like one, yeah?”

“I think the expression is ‘fuck like an animal,’ not ‘fuck while in animal costume,’” you snort. The dulcet tones of troll!Sophia fills the empty space between your combined laughter (“ _your heart’s in the right place, but I don’t know where the hell your brain is_ ”). 

“Got any more scars?” he asks as he wipes a tear from his eye.

“Do you?”

“Of course. I got to live on Alternia for sweeps before you got here,” he starts lifting his shirt. On his hip, curving along the bone of his pelvis, is a superficial scar. He has to get very close to the camera for you to even see it.

“Got this one from my old tailor. He had a jealous streak and an eye only for me,” he says, putting one hand over his left eye to indicate an eye-patch. 

“Shoulda seen it coming,” he shrugs. “I had two eyes and an assload of experience dealing with the crazies. But he was damn good at what he did.”

You sense that you’re taking turns, and that it’s now yours. You bring up your foot and show him a deep scar across your calf.  

“I got this one training with Nihkee Moolah,” you draw out her name, hoping to impress.

“No shit! That muscular theater girl?” You nod. “What, you only get wit celebs now? You had a taste, and now...” He pouts as he trails off, acting jealous as if anyone could reach his own status. 

“You think I’m with you because you’re famous?” He opens one eye at you. “Please, we both know I’m the one with the clout in this relationship.”

“Maybe. Think it’s more like your da one with the clown in this relationship,” he wipes his hand across his mouth to hide his smile over his bad joke.

“It’s a lose-lose situation, either way,” you sigh. He lets out an offended noise before he realizes that you’re being facetious. “Admit it, you want what I have.”

The two of you go back and forth for a while. He shows you a scar across his thumb that he got attempting to impress someone for his pale quadrant. You show him the scar on your jaw that you got on your first run in with Lynera. After removing his socks, he shows you the scars around his ankles from when some seadwellers attempted to drown him. You show him the hole in your knee, courtesy of Ardata’s trollkea screwdriver. He shows you weird scar pattern on his thigh from when his lusus bit him just a little too roughly as a grub. You try to keep your composure, staring at the smooth, even skin of his thighs. You take your shirt off to show him the scar under your shoulder blade from when you got caught in that rock slide with Azdaja. He seems to be having trouble keeping his composure as well, squirming around in his seat the way he is. Still, the moment doesn’t feel quite right. This whole thing feels too quiet, too intimate, to disturb with thoughts of sex and your matesprit’s thighs surrounding your face as he-

Yeah. Yeah, you’re just focusing on his scars. Nothing more.  

Marvus looks at you again- really looks at you- just the way he did earlier. He studies you, focused and intent and quiet. Then, slowly, he removes his shirt. The look that he gives you is nothing short of raw. He looks small, suddenly. Vulnerable, as if he doesn’t have his tits halfway out of his shirt on most occasions. You follow him, removing every layer that separates your the skin of your torso from the cool, late evening air. 

“Never knew you been through so much shizz,” he says, frowning.

“Same here,” you say. You watch him bring his fingers to his lips then place them to his screen. Golden Girls is still playing in the background (“ _isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad, and still look so good?_ ”). 

The laugh track plays as he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never seen a single episode of Golden Girls in my life.


	5. Skype Sex (Part 2 of 2)

When he opens his eyes at you again, he’s smirking.

“I got this scar on my ass,” he starts. “Wanna see it?”

You relax; it’s good to go back to silly. You nod at him, and he stands slowly, painfully. A thought passes through your mind: you wonder if his knee is hurting him again. With the recent surge of activity interspersed with the parties he occasionally throws on his tour bus, you wouldn’t be surprised. You look around in the background for his cane sword to confirm your suspicion and spot it leaning on his chair. So focused are you on your sleuthing that you almost miss the main event.

Marvus knows he’s beautiful, and that knowledge shows in the way he moves. Though you can’t see his eyes, you notice the predatory smile as he shows off for you, peeking his head over his shoulder to watch your reaction on his screen. His hair moves as he does, hanging heavy and ethereal off of his head like opium smoke. You’re captivated at the way he runs his hand through it to untangle it from one of his horns. Then he tucks his thumbs into his waist band and, as slowly as he can manage, pulls down his pants.

“That’s the first time you’ve needed an excuse to show me your ass,” you tell him, trying your best not to blush. 

“Didn’t want to give you the fucking vapors,” he says. His voice is slightly far away as he turns from you; a small, anxious part of you wants him closer, craving the rich tones of his voice. “Couldn’t have you fainting on vid chat LOL! Got plans for you tonight, b.” You still can’t really see his face, but his tone of voice and the sway of his hair suggests that he punctuates this sentence with a wink.

“I’m not that soft,” you counter. 

“Hehe, yes you are,” he moves his body a little closer to the camera. With his thumb, he traces a long scar from the top of his right femur and over the curve of his butt, ending at his lower back. “But I like dat you’re soft. You’re sumn special.” He turns around and works on removing his pants entirely. He’s wearing briefs patterned with eggplants, which he pulls back up after his pants are long gone. Looks like you’re not the only one who prepared for tonight.

“How’d you get that one?”

“My first sacrifice,” his tone has gone fond, nostalgic, as he searches for something in his room. “Turned my back before I checked if the motherfucker was really done and dead LOL! They got me with my own damn sword, the gall! The audacity!”

There’s something to be said about Marvus; where most of your other troll friends would have hemmed and hawed over deciding how to tell you they’ve killed someone, Marvus gives it to you straight. Not that you’re thrilled that he’s killed people, it’s just. Honesty suits him. It makes it a little easier to trust him, knowing that he’ll tell you the things that you don’t want to hear.

Still, you hate how long this is taking. You just want to get to the sex already, damn it! You do what you do best and stumble blindly, unstoppably forward. 

You admire his form. Though he isn’t completely naked yet, there’s still so much beauty in him: the way the soft skin over his ribs twists and folds around his waist as he twists the tension out of his back with a ‘pop!’ reminds you of a marble statue; you watch his stomach expand with his breath, and his whole body deflate as his breath leaves him; he leaves you captivated as you study the lines of his arms while he ties his hair up, the shapes of his bent elbows and the divots of his biceps. Hell yeah, this is really getting you going. 

You hum at him as you run your hand down your stomach. He glances towards you, curious.

“You shouldn’t have turned your back on me, either,” you say, hoping you sound husky and sexy and not ridiculous. Judging by the way his throat bobs with nervous excitement as his head whips towards you, you’d say you’re doing a damn good job. You plunge your hand into your pants as he walks back towards his husktop, apparently done with his thorough search of his room for what the fuck ever. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Damn, maybe it takes twice to teach me a fucking lesson,” he laughs, his eyes heavy as he watches you. You sigh as you find your clit, the tension built up in your body thrumming with anticipation. His smile has gone sappy, lovestruck as he watches you. 

“You’re making me do all the work again,” you tell him, arching your back to show off once you realize he can’t explicitly see how you’re touching yourself. He huffs, briefly closing his eyes, as his bulge finally makes an appearance. “Come on, pretty boy, show it off for me.”

“Yo, I was thinking,” he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear nervously. “Uh. I got this the other day.” He pulls out a burgundy prosthetic bulge- you wonder for a moment what the ridiculous troll word for dildo is. Concupiscent stimulator? But a glance at his nervous expression stops all thoughts in your head. “I ain’t never seen a human bulge before, and I know ya blood’s a little bitty brighter, but…” He trails off, uncharacteristically shy. 

“How scandalous! What did the guy at the sex shop think? Probably thought you had some kind of fetish,” you tease him, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Nahh, everyone who goes to a sex shop has a fetish though babe, lol,” he’s smiling through his blush now: success! “But I order my concupiscent aids online. Discreet like, you dig?” You can’t believe you almost got the troll terminology correct.

“So, what were you thinking?”

“Just, you know.” He swallows, bringing out a bottle of lube so seriously that it’s almost comical. “Thought I could pretend we was together tonight.”

This brings you pause. You got so caught up in the lonely misery of missing Marvus that you lived in a world where he could deal with missing you all on his own.

“Uh,” he catches your attention. “While we’re talking bout it, I was just wonderin… Why I ain’t ever seen ya bulge before? Am I doing something wrong?”

You know this is the complete wrong moment to laugh, so you fake a coughing fit instead, taking a sip of your water.

“Oh! I just don’t have one,” you say.

“Whaaat?” a confused smile starts taking over his face. “So y’all got holes with nothin’ to stick in ‘em? Wack.”

“No, some of us have bulges, it’s about a 50/50 split among humans. You know how some trolls arbitrarily have tits and some don’t?” he nods, intrigued. “It’s kind of like that.”

He hums, you can feel a million questions bubbling up in him as curiosity strikes him, and it’s not the direction you want to go in.

“Anyway, as I recall, you’ve stuck your bulge in me plenty of times. That’s far from ‘nothin,’” you laugh, hoping to steer him back to the sexy part of this conversation. 

“Damn, I was craving your bulge tonight, though,” he shrugs, sighing in mock disappointment. “Guess a clown’ll make do.” He wiggles his concupiscent aid at you as if he’s proving a point. You’re going to have to educate him on the finer parts of pegging next time you see him.

But not now. As Marvus strokes his new burgundy bulge, lubing it up and meeting your eyes with half lidded eyes, you don’t think you’re fit to educate anyone about anything right now.

“You should show me,” you say, your throat dry. You try again: “You should show me how wet you are. I want to watch you prepare your nook for my bulge.”

He huffs out an aroused breath as he shifts, pulling down his briefs. His nook looks so swollen, his bulge painfully purple as he neglects it for uh, yours, you suppose. You shake your head, getting yourself back into the moment. Something hits you, a troll fact Marvus told you a few weeks after you put a name and a feeling to the sex: trolls call this the flushed quadrant because they, well, flush. You trail your eyes up his chest, then back down to his nook, now on display for you as he spreads it, his finger trailing teasing circles around his pleasure nub. He’s purple from nose to nub. Flushed for you.

“I can see your color,” you tease him, sing song. “So pretty. So purple.”

He laughs, as if he’s embarrassed at having been found out.

“How would you get down to it? If you was here?”

You consider him, wet and squirming for you as he hooks his leg over the arm of his chair.

“I won’t touch you, not just yet.” You hear him groan low in his chest. “I need you to need this.”

“I do,” his voice is low, quiet as he steeps his tone with desperation. It’s a very sweet sound to hear, for all the bitter it must taste like in his mouth. You smile wickedly at him. “I need this. I need you.”

“Not that badly, apparently, if you can keep yourself still like that,” you watch his bulge give another painful throb, a quick twist on itself. “But, because I love you, I’ll give you some mercy. I’m trailing my hands down your side,” he does just that, soft and gentle to let you know that he’s not in the mood for anything too rough in this fantasy. “Can you feel my breath on your skin?”

“Yes,” he sighs. It’s very kind of him to play pretend with you.

“Your nook looks so swollen,” he shifts his hips to give you a better view. “So wet. I want a taste.” You start grinding your clit against your hand, not ready to come just yet but needing a little pressure, a little relief. Inspiration strikes you: you move your arm in such a way to suggest that you’re stroking a bulge instead. It’s more work, but it’s worth it to hear him stutter out a breath, reaching for his new toy. 

“Not yet,” you say. “I’m not ready yet.” Sure, you could probably come in a few seconds if you wanted, but you don’t want this to end, the intimacy and closeness you feel. He seems to catch your meaning, smiling softly up at you. 

“Your fingers, then,” he says. “I’m so wet. Give it to me good, boo. Please.”

“How can I deny such a polite request? Okay then, here’s two.” You watch him sink two fingers in himself, easy. His groan is so relieved that you almost want to cry with sympathy; your own pussy is throbs in time with his. You watch him thrust for a minute, his purple staining his fingers, before you can’t take it any more.

“Think you can take,” you pause as he moans for you, throwing his head back. An impatient groan leaves you, too. “Think you can take three, Marv?”

Stupid question; he takes three easily, sighing out the most obscenely pleasured sigh you’ve ever heard. You wonder if his room is soundproof. 

“Need you,” he says, shifting as he tries to find the spot within him that stimulates his genebladder; you know he knows from experience that fingers are too short to reach. 

“I’m here,” you say, touching yourself more frantically, trying to keep up.

“No, I need _you,_ ” he says. Desperation is back in his voice, painfully tight and full and fraught with fury. “All of you.”

“I got you. Take me, then. I’m here,” you repeat. He reaches for the toy on his desk, wetting it with more lube, and as he sinks it home his whole body relaxes, relieved. “You really needed it, huh?” He nods. 

“I can fill you up,” you tell him, not even sure what you’re saying anymore, so desperate to see him finally, finally come. “All of you. Would you like that? Fill your nook up with my bulge? Turn you around and fill your ass with my fingers at the same time?” His eyes fly open, shocked. Whoops, you guess trolls don’t do the whole anal sex thing.

Despite his shock, he fucks himself harder. “Shizz, you’re dirty lol. How you always know just what to say to keep me fucking going?” You huff a laugh, proud of yourself. How many people can say they've thrown Marvus Xoloto for a loop?

“I want to get you right. When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to take a single step without thinking of me. How I filled you up,” you have to stop for a moment as you plateau, trying desperately to wait until he’s finished, hoping beyond any naive hope that you might be able to come together. It doesn't work, he's wound you up so much that relief just spurs you on even more. His eyes are on you, his pupils dilated. Marvus knows exactly what's going on, sticking his tongue out at you. You only wish you had more time to draw this out. 

As you come, an ugly, possessive beast rears its head in you, let loose by anxiety at his absence. “I’m going to make you mine,” you say. “If that’s okay.”

He laughs, and suddenly the ridiculousness of what you said hits you, too. 

“Damn, it’s like you’re really here with me,” he says between laughs. You notice that he hasn’t stopped fucking himself, though. You hum at him, voice heavy with sleep and laced with the satisfied tones of post-orgasm bliss. 

“Come for me?” you ask him. It takes another few thrusts, but he does come for you. It’s captivating, watching his nook pulsate, drawing the bulge deeper inside of him with the power of his orgasm. His bulge, too, captivates you. You very rarely get to see this: it twists around itself, almost painfully tight, before it, too, pulses and he comes his usual, obscene amount. 

He leans over his desk, laying his head against his hand, his face twisted as if he’s in physical pain. "It's like you was really here"

And you’re suddenly, painfully aware that you aren’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pegging rights! Sub Marvus rights! Being kind of a weird person... rights?


	6. Coming in Threes (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never wanted this fic to end....

For the first time in literal months, you don’t wake up alone.

Unfortunately, the face that greets you is not your beloved matesprit, but his terrifying land dolphin lusus, Homer. Or… Homie? Marvus calls him by both names. Emotion settles on your chest and keeps you glued beneath the covers despite his pestering. You motion with your hand to send him away.

Apparently not happy with that suggestion, he sticks his face under your covers and jostles you awake with his cold, wet snout before letting out a peal of clicks and chirps. It might just be your aching heart, but Homer’s laugh is so transparently like his charge’s that you smile along with him.

He leads you through Marvus’s hive before bringing you seaside. You pause before stepping onto the beach, worried about getting your feet and legs all sandy. Then it hits you that you're on Alternia: seadwellers _will_ kill you on sight. What a hell-scape. Still, Homer pushes you forward with pressure behind your knees. If he's leading you here, it must be safe. Regardless, you feel a jolt of trepidation as the waves creep ever closer. 

But the water that covers your bare feet is warm and comforting. A slow breath escapes you as you watch the waves and hear the soft susurrus of the water around you. The sea breeze stirs lazily through the beach grass before finding its home between your hair and your scalp. Muscle by muscle, you release tension that you'd been holding for so long that you've been mistaking it for strength. And you watch the waves. The twin moons reflect in the water in front of you, close but never touching.

Your heart hurts. 

Unperturbed by your inner monologue, Homie digs on the shore beside you, covering your feet in wet sand before the waves wash them clean again. He glances up to you with one of his signature impish smiles.

Sudden peace warms you from the inside out. And you know that, despite everything, there’s more than just one person who cares for you here.

* * *

The best part about squatting at Marvus’s hive while he’s gone is finding little bits and pieces of him that he left behind. 

His fridge is filled to the brim with prepared foods. None of it is spoiled, suggesting that someone -- or multiple someones -- comes around often enough to replenish it. Your mind races as you consider the implications: 1. Marvus has a maid staff, 2. you have never seen his maid staff, and 3. they are around often enough to cook regular meals for themselves. You flush, embarrassed, as you recall your last few weeks at his hive: wandering around in lingerie just for the feel of it; picking your nose because nobody can see you; singing loudly and without abandon in the shower. Then you brush it off. Hell, these guys are going to have gossip for weeks about Marvus’s bizarro alien matesprit. At least you’ve been cleaning up your own messes. You doubt that Marvus does the same.

You wander into his room armed with your favorite sandwich (4. Marvus’s maid staff know you well enough to keep your favorite foods around, hell yeah). It's easy to seat yourself at his vanity, drying your legs off and slipping your feet into his size ‘enormous’ slippers that he keeps hidden here beneath. Once your brunch is finished, you start rummaging through his vanity drawers.

A small, judgmental part of yourself starts up their moral nonsense. What? You’re starting to get bored. You get restless at his hive sometimes.

And it’s not like you find much of note anyway: jars of face paint (predictable), a sparkly eye-shadow palette (barely used), a mummified bundle of flowers that crumble to dust when you pick them up (kind of spooky). 

Closing the top drawer is much more of a struggle than you imagined it to be. It’s not like you've been regularly opening this thing; it’s starting to stick. With a final shove, it does finally slide home, but the force of it sliding into place displaces the middle drawer. Papers fly out in all directions; it would almost be comical if you didn’t know that this is where Marvus stores all of his failed lyric drafts.

You have to run through his room, grabbing and clawing at them in order to not lose them to the sea breeze. And, though it takes some time, you do manage to see them all safely in your arms. 

With a rush of pride, you gather them all to your chest. Crisis averted. You sit back down at his vanity, attempting to organize his drafts.

Okay, so you are very transparently snooping at his old tunes now that you have a convenient excuse. You can’t help but be curious; Marvus is supposedly a lyrical genius. You wonder what his first drafts look like. You wonder what failure looks like to him.

...Most of them are actually pretty similar to their final products. That’s just not fair.

But one final scrap of paper does catch your eye. A brown paper napkin is the most heavily edited draft of them all. Lines are crossed out, then checked off again with a smiley face; words are circled with question marks and lists of synonyms. There’s a heart drawn on the upper left-hand corner. You recognize the Alternian letters surrounding a familiar logo, though you can’t read them. It hits you: you’ve been to this cafe with him, you watched him write these lyrics. But you never got the chance to read them; you’d always assumed they ended up in one of his other songs.

It takes you a moment to properly parse, but you greedily soak up the words:

_Got these bitches left on read,_

_Like a feeding frenzy,_

_They come at me for dat bread,_

_But I got someone in my bed, and,_

_Someone in my head, and,_

_I think I’m in they head, but..._

The rest is illegible, scrubbed raw by more crossed out lines. You think you see the word ‘elbow’ but… that can’t be right, can it? Maybe it’s a troll thing. Slumping down in your seat, you hold the lyrics tight to your chest, closing your eyes to imagine him singing. Curiosity fills your chest: what did the rest of these lyrics say?  

Images of him race through your mind. Images of him, sitting at his desk, eyes lowered as he rests his head in his hand. You think of him singing these lyrics under his breath as he searches for the perfect rhyme scheme, crossing things off and bumping his head to his own beat-boxing. You think of him on stage, with his smile drawn wide in pride and his body moving to the music as he sings. _About you._

There’s a very strong impulse to text him, maybe give him a little shit about it, but a sharp pulse of _something_ strong and uncomfortable runs through you. 

Marvus has been a little distant ever since he broke down in front of you. It’s not like you didn’t know that he had trouble being genuine, but it still hurts to go through this process. 

 _Again._  

Lord help you, the memory of him blurting out his first “I love you” before he ghosted you for a week is still a tender scar. To be honest, you usually enjoy chasing him. But not like this.

 

Marvus  
  
**MSPA Reader:** Hey. You up?  
  


Wow, talk about taking after your matesprit. He’s sent you those exact words in that exact order about 200 times. Although you suppose his intent was a little different.

He doesn’t respond; he must be working. You turn back to his vanity. Around the mirror and between the lights are close to a hundred of pictures of him with his buddies; there’s one with him and Slamzy, chilling back stage and covered in special stardust, that makes your heart flutter. It never gets easier, missing him.

Almost as if by fate, your phone buzzes right when you were about to start feeling really pitiful.

 

  
**Marvus:** u no it baby !  
  
**Marvus:** wussup ? feelin freaky ;o) ?  
  


You smile, though it feels a little flat.

 

  
**MSPA Reader:** You could say that!  
  
**MSPA Reader:** I found something veeery interesting at your hive  
  
**Marvus:** ooh snooping through my shizz ? naughty naughty ;o)  
  
**MSPA Reader:** Maybe! Let’s play a game, then you can tell me about who’s been naughty.  
  


You almost feel bad leading him on like this, but you know from experience that this is a gentle dance with Marvus. Getting him to talk about something difficult means getting him somewhere familiar. And what’s more familiar to Marvus than sex?

Yeah, that sounds pretty bad, even in you head.

 

**Marvus:** bet !   
  
**MSPA Reader:** Finish the lyric: Got these bitches left on read / like a feeding frenzy / they come at me for…?  
  
**Marvus:** 😬  
  


For a moment, you think you might have taken it too far, but he recovers gracefully.

 

**Marvus:** dam b u ain’t been naughty  
  
**Marvus:** strait up wicked got dam !  
  
**MSPA Reader:** You think I’m the wicked one? I can’t even see the rest of what you wrote!  
  
**Marvus:** dan fam guess you gotta improv the rest by ya self den 😔  
  
**Marvus:** ain’t u said some shizz bout us playin a game ?  
  
**Marvus:** finish da lyric: i think im in they head, but… ;o)  
  
**MSPA Reader:** WHAT! you _know_ I can’t freestyle!!  
  
**Marvus:** i dont know shizz abt that LOL !  
  
**Marvus:** ain’t like i ever seen u try or n e thin  
  
**MSPA Reader:** I’ve never tried because I know I suck!  
  
**Marvus:** :o( dam u wont even try ?  
  
**Marvus:** for me ?  
  
**Marvus:** thot u wanted 2 no the rest of the lyrics tho, hehe  
  
**Marvus:** n u ain't getting em from me ! LOL !  
  
**MSPA Reader:** :(  
  
**Marvus:** just think of sumn romantic ways wut rhymes w head  
  


You pause, really racking your brain for something clever. You come up with ‘bed’ like, three times before you realize that’s what he rhymed with head previously.

 

  
**MSPA Reader:** Okay, but you have to promise not to make fun of me…  
  
**Marvus:** aw babe i wldnt do that  
  


That’s a blatant lie.

 

**MSPA Reader:** I think I’m in their head, but / I’m stuck on things unsaid...?  
  
**Marvus:** ayy !  
  


You’re blushing so hard that you have to stop responding. It was a big risk, your first attempt at something Marvus has dedicated his life to. It surprises you how anxious you were for his praise.

Your phone buzzes a few times as you regain your composure.

 

**Marvus:** dat’s pretty close !  
  
**Marvus:** hey  
  
**Marvus:** u there ?  
  
**Marvus:** call me  
  
**Marvus:** ya mans is lonely  
  
**Marvus:** i wanna hear ur voice  
  
**Marvus:** lemme hear ya sing my own lyrics back to me LOL ! ! letz get fxxkin bumpin ! ;o)  
  


You call him.

* * *

He doesn’t even pick up the first time. Bastard. 

But he calls you back right away, so you decide to let it go.

“Ay yo!” he laughs into the receiver. “So here’s what’s cookin…”

On his side, you can hear the track he’s producing- a simple 4/4 beat, unusual in its r&b influence. It sounds very 90’s, for lack of a better comparison.

“Made this while we was chit-chatting. That’s an old song you dug up, boo-boo.”

Does that explain the 90’s influence? Maybe that’s just how Alternia is at this point in time. 

“It only took you that long?”

“Nahh, the sounds was deep-dish in my pan already. Like I been saying, it’s from a while back.”

Marvus spends some time explaining the technical, behind-the-scenes stuff to his song. His voice is rich and smooth, and he’s speaking quickly with excitement.

“You really love this stuff,” you tell him. He huffs a laugh. “Understatement?” you ask.

“Nothin like that. Jus…” you can hear him quickly drumming his fingers against something, nervous. “You cut right to it. Feels good to be like, fuckin seen , you feel me?”

You hum warmly at him, moving carelessly through his room. You touch at his beaded curtains, letting them jingle, before plopping down on his couch.

“Yo, where you at?” He must have heard you messing around.

“In your room,” you tell him simply.

“Man, come on,” he ebbs you on. “Give me the mfin deets! I wanna picture you somewhere.”

“You already know what your room looks like,” you tease. “I’m just sitting on your couch.”

“Oh yeah?” you can practically hear him wink. “What are you wearing?”

“One of your Official Marvus Xoloto shirts,” he gives a delighted huff at this, “some jeans that I had to roll up from when your lusus took me onto the beach. My legs are all sandy.”

“And you’re getting that mess all on my shizz? For damn shame!” he mock-scolds you.

“This is hardly the worst thing you’ve had on your furniture,” you tell him, deadpan. Inspiration strikes you: Marvus has left his track playing on a loop. You’ve mostly been tuning it out as you flirted with him, but, as the beat starts to reset....

“Remember? You have someone in your bed, and, someone in your head, and …” You’re saved from the prospect of having to freestyle again by Marvus.

“ I think I’m in they head, but, they flush is ruby red. Yeah, I remember what we was talking bout.” his voice is so soft. You smile, finally having confirmation: this song was absolutely, one hundred percent about you.

“From the top,” he says, stifling a yawn. “Sing it to me.”

You do. It feels strange, the rhythm and style of this music new to you, or perhaps you’re just feeling a little shy still. But you sing it to him.

Once you hit the end of the lyrics, he hums such a completely pleased hum that, had it been from anyone but him, it might sound lewd.

“Yeah, I can get into that,” he says, low and sensual. Scratch the above: the hum was, in fact, lewd. You can’t believe you just said ‘lewd’ in your head twice. Three times. Fuck!

So you guess it’s show time.

“I never got to ask: what are you wearing?”

“Oh now you’re feeling freaky?”

“Just trying to picture you somewhere,” the smile comes to your face unbidden. He laughs.

“Ain’t wearing anything,”

“What? Where are you?” you ask him. Surely he’s alone but… wow, you do kind of want to picture him somewhere now.

“In my dressing room,” that doesn’t answer anything.

“Why are you naked?”

Your head is spinning. Messiahs fucking fore-fend you. This, more than anything, has inexplicably set you in a tizzy. What the hell is he doing naked in his dressing room? He interrupts your racing thoughts.

“You’re asking all the wrong questions,” he pouts. “You been on Alternia too long, thinking I’m all vulnerable and nonsense…” He’s right; your time on the beach, regardless of how safe you may have been, has left some lingering anxiety in you. You take a deep breath, then you find yourself laughing with him, the ridiculousness of the scene catching up with you. 

“Shizz, just ask what I’m touching, aight?”

You can guess.

“Yeah? What are you touching?” finally, your primal hindbrain catches up with the scene. You tilt your voice back from ‘panicking’ to ‘sensual.’

“My tummy,”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting.

“Could go lower. Depends,” he sounds almost disinterested -- sleepy, if you had to guess -- but you understand all at once that he’s asking for your consent.

“Maybe you should,” you hear the shift of skin on soft skin as he does just that. His breathing picks up on the other end. 

This song he sings for you is better than anything with lyrics.

* * *

You almost fall asleep with the phone pressed into the skin of your cheek. Marvus hums, completely content, in your ear, startling you back awake. You check outside: the moons are settled nice and cozy in the apex of their arcs. It’s just before noon.

“Hey,” you catch his attention. He grumbles a little in reply. “You never told me how that song ends.”

He laughs; you can hear him stretch his spine with a ‘pop’ in the background. 

“Got you hung up on that shizz, huh?”

“Nobody has ever written a love song for me before. I want the details!”

He hums again, contemplating.

“Nah, think I’ll keep you waiting. Need to give you something to think about when I’m gone.”

“I’m not writing my own love song!”

He laughs at this, then the two of you lapse into a comfortable silence. His breathing is soft and steady in your ear as you force yourself to wake up. Your sleep schedule is fucked.

Restless energy fills you fit to bursting. Something familiar stirs, deep in your consciousness.

“Maybe you can write me a love song,” he says, a smile bright in his voice.

“Please, you think I’m going to compete with Zebruh Codakk over the title for ‘worst love song written about a clown’?” He audibly cringes on the other side of the line at Zebruh’s name.

“You right, ain’t no way you’d win that one.” The two of you laugh together at the thought.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I have a better idea.”

It’s the first time in a long time that you’ve had to make a Choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I'm writing three endings ;)


End file.
